Si me muero mañana

A bright sadness, without any trace of pathos. Just a man who has thought everything through in advance - even how to apologize to those he didn't have time to see. There is no fear of death here, only calmness in the face of it: as if he is not about to “leave,” but simply move a couple of streets away. He gives out instructions at the end - who to tell what, where the photos are hidden - and reminds them: if it suddenly becomes empty, let them turn on the music and pour a mug of beer.

This is about love without possessive pronouns, about the tenderness that can be heard in the voice when they say, “Let me not always be here, but I will be in the little things.” Like a sunspot on the kitchen wall that appears every morning - nothing special, but it gives off warmth.